


Flames

by Nival_Vixen



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Arson, Based on a Tumblr Post, Complete, I Blame Tumblr, M/M, Psychopaths In Love, Serial Killer Derek, Serial Killer Stiles Stilinski, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 20:09:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1317658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nival_Vixen/pseuds/Nival_Vixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s something wrong with Derek and Stiles, and it’s not just that they’re completely fucked up, or even that they’re serial killers. It’s something so much worse than that, because Argent’s fairly sure he’s seen Derek’s eyes turn red (it might have been the reflection from the flames, but late at night when he tries to drink his memories away, he’ll swear otherwise), and Stiles is… well, there’s no word he can think of that describes Stiles properly, and ‘scary as all fuck' still doesn't seem to cover it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flames

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this Tumblr post](http://nivalvixen.tumblr.com/post/79662629575/fwaeti-sterek-au-serial-killers-i-actually)

There's something **wrong** with Derek and Stiles, and it's not just that they're completely fucked up, or even that they're serial killers. It's something so much worse than that, because Argent's fairly sure he's seen Derek's eyes turn red (it might have been the reflection from the flames, but late at night when he tries to drink his memories away, he'll swear otherwise), and Stiles is... well, there's no word he can think of that describes Stiles properly, and ' _scary as all fuck_ ' still doesn't seem to cover it.

 

Stiles and Derek are in different interrogation rooms, but they're both staring at the walls as though they can see through the brick and mortar to the other. Then, right when Argent thinks that they can't get any damn creepier, they both turn their heads _in fucking unison_ to the mirrored glass in each room and stare, lips and eyebrows raised in some sort of sick and twisted version of amusement. There's more than one person that jumps in fright, and one man actually leaves the room. Stiles has a tilted grin on his smug little face, as if he can see their terrified responses, and there's some part of Argent's mind that wonders if he really can see them. At this point, he doesn't think it'll surprise him.

 

"Argent? You're the one that caught them?" Agent McCall, FBI with the suit and attitude to match, asks as he comes in the room.

 

He nods briefly, not bothering to add that ' _caught_ ' is a bit of a stretch: they were simply waiting outside of the place of their latest arson attack, watching as he approached warily. Derek had laughed at his trepidation and then held his hands out, mocking him to fucking cuff him already and that he wouldn't bite. (Stiles added something in a low murmur that sounded a lot like 'unless I ask very nicely' but Chris didn't want to think about that at all.)

 

"Right, well, I've read your report, so unless there's anything else you think you need to tell me, I'll start interrogating the prisoners."

 

Chris can't help himself, even if this slicked and suited guy is somewhat of an asshole, he still feels as though he has to warn him. "There's something wrong with them. And I don't just mean in the head, though there's plenty of that; there's just ... something that's not right with either of them."

 

McCall stops at the door to Derek's interrogation room and looks back at him, as if to gauge his seriousness. When he sees that he's being perfectly serious (if a little terrified), he just nods. "Go home and get some rest, Argent. It's been a long day for you."

 

Chris wants to punch him for that, for belittling his gut instincts, his fear, his absolute belief that this is all utterly **wrong** , and for putting it down to him being _tired_. He wants to hit him so fucking hard his perfect teeth fall out of his fucking mouth, but instead, Chris forces himself to unclench his fist and turns around to leave. He stops at the door, and looks over to McCall, who's still waiting at the interrogation door, and decides to offer him one last warning, though he sure as fuck doesn't deserve it. "Stiles is the Sheriff's son; make sure you remember that when you're dealing with him."

 

With that said, Chris leaves the room and goes to his desk to write up his report for the evening. (He'll leave anything about red glowing eyes out of it; he has no desire to fuck up his career over something like this. Besides, it was just a trick of the light, that's all.)

 

...

 

McCall strikes a deal with them (or he's manipulated into offering them a deal, no one's quite sure, not even McCall himself), and somehow, Derek and Stiles are released on bail, and put under house arrest complete with tracking anklets. There's an added provision that forbids them from being in a 10 metre radius of anything that even gets too hot: the microwave, stove, and kettle are removed from the house; all lighters and matches are destroyed; even the TV is limited to two hours because the screen has a tendency to get warm; Stiles' laptop is removed as an afterthought.

 

Security cameras are installed in all of the rooms, including the bathroom. In the first few days, it seems that all of the footage retrieved is nothing but images of Stiles and Derek fucking in every room in the house. McCall wishes he could remove all memory of scanning that footage (the dirty talk alone was enough to make him need a hot shower until he felt clean again, but he had to ensure they weren't planning their next attack and using sex as a decoy), and he seriously thinks that they did it on purpose just to screw with his head. (He's only half right; Stiles and Derek have a very healthy sexual appetite, especially in regards to each other, and Stiles can be a bit of an exhibitionist.)

 

There's another arson attack a few weeks later, but their anklets and the video feed shows that both Stiles and Derek weren't anywhere near the fire, and even the guys watching the house agree that neither occupant left in that time. The MO's identical, which means they either have a copycat on their hands, or the wrong guys under house arrest.

 

As McCall watches the video feed for that night for the fourth or fifth time in a row, he starts to think that Argent was right after all. There's something **wrong** with them. There's a red glow to Derek's eyes that's not at all natural, and while McCall knows that everything even remotely flammable has been removed from the house, he swears there's a flicker of a flame on Derek's palm at one point. He glances over to the live feed and sees Stiles sitting on the bed (it's actually made up, which is a rarity with those two), and Stiles has this blank and hollow look on his face as he lifts his hand and waves at him creepily.

 

 _But, no. What's he saying? Stiles isn't waving at_ ** _him_** _, obviously. He doesn't know that he was looking at the camera, no, there's not way he can know that_. But McCall sees on the other screen that Derek is downstairs in the kitchen, and there's no one else in the house for Stiles to be waving at, and suddenly, he decides that right now is an excellent time to go for a very strong drink. Others have been dying for the cushy job of watching the monitors, so McCall rings two officers up, and leaves as soon as they arrive.

 

He finds Argent sitting in the local pub nursing a table of beer bottles, and when Argent sees his face, he nudges the seat across from him so McCall can sit down. There's not a word of greeting or question offered, just a beer. He's relieved at that, and takes the beer as he sits down. They don't speak for the rest of the night.

 

...

 

Stiles shouldn't be so surprised at how easy it is to get a book of matches from his father. He doesn't even have to go into the whole 'one pack of matches isn't going to do any harm' argument when John's there, handing him a tissue box with a very meaningful look. It's so obvious that Stiles almost expects the officers outside to barge in, tackle him to the ground, and take the tissues away. But they don't, so he just smiles brightly and hugs his father instead. It's a little stiffer and a lot more awkward than Stiles' usual hugs, but John pretends not to notice, even though he leaves soon afterwards.

 

Derek manages to get canola oil on their next shopping trip. He mentions something about an anniversary and a desire to make Stiles' favourite food: curly fries and spring rolls, and the guard looks a little misty-eyed as he agrees and turns a blind eye to the oil being passed through the checkout. The two boxes of condoms aren't even blinked at, not when most of the police force (and a few select agents from the FBI) are **very** aware of their sexual activities, and there's even a joke that they'll need another lot of boxes next week. Derek just grins, nods, and lets the officer take him back out to the car.

 

It's somewhat difficult to put their plan into action while they're in the shower together, but they manage anyway. They're resourceful like that, and the amount of steam coming out of the shower isn't uncommon either. The turkey baster, bottle of canola oil, and condoms are, but the officers don't see in the shower itself (they're offered one ounce of privacy, and god, will they take it). Stiles keeps distracting Derek by pressing hot and open kisses to his skin, which makes it difficult to fill a condom with oil, add a match, and tie it off properly. The water makes it slippery as well, and there are at least three condoms lying on the shower floor by the time the first one's successfully made. Stiles seems dubious that they'll even work, but Derek promises that they will, and he eventually starts helping as well. They keep working until the water runs cold, and then fuck just to keep up appearances (not to mention Stiles' mouth being as tempting as it is, Derek couldn't resist him any more than he already had).

 

A few days pass, and Derek takes out a container of food to the officers watching their live feed. He promises there's nothing in it when they look at him warily (they should know, he's been baking in the kitchen all day), and after some cajoling and a broad smile, they take the food. The next day, he does the same thing, and again and again, until it becomes customary for the officers to expect food. They only watch the camera feed when Derek starts baking because he sets out the ingredients so obsessively that it's always easy to see what they'll be getting. Pumpkin pie is a favourite among the officers, and it's their lucky day because Derek seems to be cooking exactly that. They both wolf it down greedily and it's not for a few more hours that the sleeping pills that were slipped into the food processor along with the pumpkin start to take affect. Derek lets out a cheery whistle as he checks on the two officers, calmly slipping the tracking anklets on them before going back to the house.

 

Stiles is sitting in the bedroom, watching him with barely repressed anticipation, and Derek can't stop himself from kissing him eagerly.

 

"Let's set them all ablaze," he breathes as he pulls away, a flame flickering on his open palm.

 

Stiles lets out a deep shuddering breath of excitement, and his eyes are shining as he stares at that single flame. He'd seen the spark a year ago, and it had taken some time to coax Derek to show it to him properly. It's so unlike anything that's ever happened to him before, and he had wanted more immediately. He could stare at that flame for hours, and Derek's always been passionate about Stiles, so before long they were burning things together. How it evolved to watching people burn, Stiles still isn't quite sure, but there's nothing in the world like it, especially when Derek's eyes are glowing red and he's holding a flame in his hand like it was nothing more than a pebble. Now, with the amount of condoms they've filled over the past two weeks, they're armed with enough incendiary bombs to cause **a lot** of permanent damage. He can't wait to hear them scream.

 

"Now," Stiles agrees with a nod.

He gives the camera a final wave, and they leave together without looking back. Every third house has a oil and match rubber thrown at it, Derek following with a ball of flames that has the house engulfed in minutes. It doesn't matter if anyone's in the house or not, because the next one's only a few metres away, and by the time they're at the end of one street, the houses have all caught on fire, as close to each other as they are.

 

In a matter of hours, Beacon Hills is a town going up in flames. On the outskirts of town, there's a small lookout that rises over the forest, and there Stiles and Derek sit and watch it burn. They have no desire to be caught again, so they make sure their departure from Beacon Hills was quiet and unnoticed by all.

 

Stiles can hear the screams echoing in the air, and smiles as he wraps an arm around Derek's waist. They sit there together until the stars come out, and wait until the sound of police and fire sirens fade into the night before they leave too. There's the rest of the world to see yet, and they're both of the opinion that everything looks better through the flames.

 

....

 

The end.

Thanks for reading!


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